


Owie…lungs hurt

by thedepartedsweetly



Category: Original Work
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27650546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedepartedsweetly/pseuds/thedepartedsweetly
Summary: I’m goin bonkers
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 6
Kudos: 3





	Owie…lungs hurt

It started off as a mild throat ache. 

Emma had insisted on going on a double date with Michael and Jeremy, even though he didn’t feel… _ great.  _ “C’mon, babe. It’s just a cold.”

“They’ll kill us for passing whatever cold I have on,” he complained. In all honesty, he hated seeing Michael with his boyfriend. Not that he was homophobic it was just…well, he’d known Michael since they were kids. It was just weird. 

And also he’d been horribly infatuated with Michael since the sixth grade but that was neither here nor there.

Grumbling all the way, he let Emma drag him to the restaurant. Michael and Jeremy were already there and greeted them happily, Gabe found it almost unsettling how they seemed to move like a unit. He and Emma were the near opposite, so out of sync with each other they couldn’t help but bump and leave bruises. But they’d been together, comfortably, for almost five years. At the very least, their dynamic was familiar.

Michael had only started dating Jeremy a few months ago. Gabe couldn’t help but dislike him. He seemed like a nice guy, he really did. There was just something about him that grated on Gabe despite his perfection. Maybe it  _ was  _ his perfection. He had soft blue eyes and dimples, where Gabe had dark eyes and a perpetual scowl. His voice was kind and soothing, when Gabe couldn’t help but shout. He was the golden boy to Gabe’s weird…gutter…animal. The analogy fell apart quickly, but the sentiment was there. Appearance and personality wise, they were perfect opposites. He couldn’t help but think Jeremy and Emma would get along. 

He kept quiet for most of the conversation, but it wasn’t just that Jeremy’s very existence made him feel inadequate, but his sore throat was getting worse. When the waiter came over he coughed softly before ordering tea. “ _ Tea?!”  _ Michael cackled, “my dear, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you order tea in your life!” 

“Oh, don’t tease him;” Emma snickered, patting his shoulder. “He’s having a man-cold.” Jeremy made a noise of sympathy. 

“Wanna borrow my water while we wait?” Damn, even his manners were perfect.

“Sure. Thanks.” It helped a little, but the tea was far more soothing. Michael, as always, was going off on twelve different tangents at once, and as he was the most extroverted one at the table, they were more than happy to indulge him. Gabe saw the way Jeremy looked at him and scowled. 

“You good?” Emma murmured, elbowing him lightly in the side. 

“Eugh yeah. Guys, Ima take a rain check. I really don’t feel well.”

“Oh—“ Michael seemed a tad disappointed. 

“Next time?” Jeremy added lightly. 

“Yeah. Em, you take the car. I’ll grab a cab.”

“Okay…” she said, sounding doubtful, but didn’t protest. He took a gulp of fresh, cold air as he left the restaurant, his head already feeling clearer. It seemed every step he took away from the restaurant, the better he felt. 

-

The sore throat persisted irritatingly through the winter months. He attributed it to a seasonal cold though, and of course it was manageable. Though it was odd that the sheer amount of Tylenol and Claratin he was taking didn’t even make a dent, he didn’t see it as worrying enough to seek medical help. 

He carried on as usual from University to his part time job at the garage, just going through the motions as the snow melted and flowers began poking through the earth. Gabe loved flowers, but he wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it. 

It was a few months before Jeremy and Michael invited him to do something again. They were still together. And Gabe was  _ happy  _ for Michael, he really, really was. But he was also miserable, and frustrated that they seemed so close. He’d been Michael’s friend for seventeen years and in love with him for a good five of those. But at some point he decided that it would be too awkward, too  _ selfish  _ to ask for more, and then Michael found Jeremy. He really had no one to blame but himself, so when they invited him of course he said yes. 

He ordered tea again, much to Michael’s amusement. “Throat still sore?”

“Ah. Seasonal stuff,” Jeremy nodded wisely. Gabe wanted to punch his perfect teeth.

“He hasn’t stopped whining for agessss;” Emma cut in, rolling her eyes. 

“Poor dear,” Michael said, making a mockingly over sympathetic face. 

“I hate you,” Gabe groaned.

“You love me,” Michael retorted. Gabe’s hands clenched into fists under the table. How fucking embarrassing.  _ Fuck.  _ Suddenly his throat ache was unbearable. He broke into a coughing fit, doing his best to angle away from the table. Was he choking? He looked suspiciously at the burger he’d been eating. Was this how he was going to die? Shitty fast food? The thing stuck in his throat shifted, and he doubled over. 

“Holy shit! Gabe are you okay?!” Emma cried, grabbing his shoulder as he hacked out what felt like half a lung.

“I know CPR.” Jeremy offered.  _ Of course you do,  _ Gabe thought grouchily, wiping at his mouth. 

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, as he felt the…the  _ thing  _ come out. He spat into a napkin. 

Cradled in the crumpled brown paper, was a small pink flower covered in spittle, bits of burger, and blood. Lots of blood. He immediately crushed it in his hand, breathing harshly. Fuck.  _ Fuck.  _ Michael laughed nervously, breaking the silence.

“What, a really big snot wad?”

“I-I have to go.” He gasped, all but sprinting out of the restaurant, panicking.

-

_ Hanahaki. _

There was no doubt that was what it was. Who just coughs out a blood covered flower? He’d heard stories of people staying in denial until they were literally growing shrubs out of his throat. He planned to nip it in the bud early, no pun intended, making a doctors appointment for the earliest possible date. Which turned out to be that evening.

Gabe sat in the waiting room, unable to stay still. Now that he knew what was  _ wrong  _ with him, it was hard to breathe. He knew it was just panic, but cut him some slack, the idea of  _ flowers  _ growing in his  _ lungs  _ was fucking horrifying. 

He shot up out of his seat as soon as his name was called, hurrying to the GP’s office. 

“So. You believe you have Hanahaki,” she said. It wasn’t a question, she’d read his files. 

“Yes.  _ Ma’am _ . Yes ma’am.” 

“Alright,” she chewed on her bottom lip for a moment as she tapped some buttons on her computer screen. “What symptoms?” 

“Uh. Sore throat, a sore throat. I’ve had since January.” She seemed unimpressed. “And I coughed up a flower this morning.” Her face whitened as he pulled out the napkin which he’d stuffed clumsily into his pocket despite his urge to hurl it far away. The flower sat there innocently, turning brown with dried blood. 

“S-sir that’s a biohazard!” She said, typing frantically. “Please throw it away.”

“Yeah.” He said dully.

“So,” she said softly, pulling out a pamphlet. It was obnoxiously cheerful, emblazoned with cartoon flowers and people holding hands in fields. Gabe couldn’t imagine anyone actually went to fields to hold hands. “The mortality rate for Hanahaki is 100%. Modern medicine is completely ineffective in treating it. At most, your life could be extended by a year or so. The only cure is. Well, as childish as it sounds, is for your heart to stop hurting. For the individual of your affections to return them.” She looked up hesitantly. “Do you know who yours is?”

“Yes.” Gabe said immediately. There was no doubt in his mind. Michael. Michael. Always Michael. He couldn’t help coughing again. 

“Oh! Don’t think of them, uh. Being around them, being reminded of them, it gets worse.” She explained. 

“Right.” Gabe mumbled. “So what you’re saying is there’s nothing I can do.”

“Not…not exactly.” She flipped the pamphlet to the last page, “there is…a cognitive surgery. Once we get your MRI back with an official diagnosis, that will be the recommended procedure.”

“So…what does it entail?” Gabe asked cautiously. There were no happy flowers on this page.

“The removal of the amygdala, among…other things. It’s all written here. It’s essentially the removal of your ability to… _ feel  _ at all. And because of that, the flowers wither, and you live.”

“No.” Gabe said immediately, pushing the pamphlet away. A life without feeling seemed worse than dying. The GP’s brow furrowed. He had a feeling this wasn’t an uncommon response.

“Without a formal diagnosis, all we can do is…well, treat it as it is. Hot drinks, over the counter pain meds, and get as much rest as you can. But sir—“ she pushed the pamphlet back at him. “Just think about it.”

-

Unsurprisingly, trying to sleep was hell. He managed to soothe his throat with some chamomile mixture (Emma noted on him becoming a bit of a tea fiend) but his anxiety kept him up. He’d been given a death sentence, because Michael would never return his feelings. 

Around three am, Emma banished him to the couch. So he tossed and turned there instead. As usual, his thoughts drifted back to Michael. Immediately his throat tightened, and he coughed, twisting his body so whatever it was would land on the floor.

Another petal. Bigger than the last, or was it just his imagination? He groaned, rolling back over just as someone knocked on his apartment door. At three am? Who the hell would visit at three am? He stumbled blindly towards the peephole and cursed. Michael. 

“I heard you moving around in there you bastard. Lemme in!” Gabe rolled his eyes, unlocking the door. 

“What do you want?” He groaned. Michael seemed so small in his doorway, with less of his characteristic confidence. 

“Dude, I was worried. You like…choked today.” 

“Oh that’s swee—“

“Also the season premiere of ‘immortal and the restless’ comes on in five minuets and you have cable.” 

“Ah.” Michael didn’t wait for a response, marching past Gabe and hopping onto the couch. 

“Oooh, a pillow. Someone having marital problems?”

“We aren’t married,” Gabe sighed, spumping next to him.

“Eh, you’ve been dating for like…forever. You’re  _ basically  _ married.”

“It’s cause I snore when I sleep.” Gabe said defensively, “we’re not fighting or anything.” Michael rolled his eyes. 

“Suuuure,” Michael snickered, turning on the show. “If the shoe fits, dear.” 

Gabe had no interest in the show, too full of melodramatic people confessing love and dying (yes he recognized the irony in his situation) but he certainly wasn’t getting much sleep anyway. Besides he was a bit distracted, Michael was lying in his lap. This wasn’t weird, considering how long they’d known each other. But, with his new…insight…into his feelings, it felt a bit dishonest.

“Hey Gabe?” Michael said softly, during a commercial break. His voice was so quiet, Gabe almost didn’t pick it up over the irritating woman hawking some magical cure all pill.

“Ehh…yeah?”

“Do you like Jeremy?” 

“Mm, where’s this coming from?” Michael sat up, his face set in a serious frown.

“Gabe, you’re my best friend. The best friend I have. Your opinion matters to me, and…I can’t help but feel you don’t like him much.”

“No I do.” Gabe assured him. “I like him a lot. He’s good for you.”

-

Gabe hemmed and hawed his way through practice when the coach asked him why he couldn’t run. He ran a hand through this hair anxiously. “M’ sick.” Coach scowled.

“So? Somethin’ wrong with your lungs?”

“Yes. Uh.” He grasped at straws for a disease that did not involve ‘dying because your crush doesn’t like you.’ “Asthma.”

“You don’t have asthma.” The coach said, sounding unamused. “Go out to practice.” And he couldn't even be mad because he hadn’t gotten an official diagnosis.

It was cold as hell as he headed out on the field, but the familiar bite was almost comforting. Maybe he’d feel better if he exercised. “Tryin’ to get out of practice?” No. 24 teased.

“Pfft, in your dreams,” Gabe laughed, starting the slow warmup jog. “You’re just mad cause I show you up.” 

Yeah, something was immediately wrong. He could hear himself wheezing, loud enough that 24 noticed.

“Dude, you okay?” He opened his mouth to answer, but found it was too much. His jog slowed to a walk as he coughed, desperately trying to dislodge the new flower. All that came out was a petal. It wasn’t ready yet. 

“Can’t.” He gasped out. “Gonna call it a day,” he waved weakly, and ignored the coach's yells as he headed off the field. 

-

Gabe realized he was going to have to tell Emma. He tried to ignore it, he did. But it became harder and harder to catch his breath. He couldn’t run anymore, and he’d had to quit his job. Working on cars was too much for his body. 

He’d held a certain disdain for those who lived in denial of their diagnoses, but he realized he really was as well.

“Hanahaki?” Emma said, face pale, a million different emotions flashing across her face. He could almost hear her questions. Was it her fault? Had she not loved him enough? Or worse perhaps, it was someone else. Someone he’d been pining after for years.

“And its…not you.” Her face utterly crumpled. 

“I can’t.” She whispered.

“I know.” 

Emma packed her things and left the next day. Gabe couldn’t even bring himself to be sad. He hadn’t loved her: he’d liked her alright. But they’d never been happy. Comfortable. But never happy. 

-

_ ‘We broke up. So maybe it was marital troubles lol.’  _ Gabe texted Michael with one hand, tugging out a particularly long stemmed rose with a wince. 

That made three. Three full sized flowers, not including the storm of petals that surrounded him every morning that he coughed up in his sleep. It was getting harder and harder to breathe every fucking day, and all he could do was try to distract himself as much as possible. 

_ ‘Shit rly?’ _

_ ‘Ya.’ _

_ ‘Dude I’m coming over.’ _

-

Michael insisted on going out, ‘best way to get over a breakup’ he promised. He danced down the street ahead of Gabe, his skinny frame engulfed in a massive jacket. Winter was not quite over and it was still bitterly cold and patches of brown slush remained on the road. That did his raw throat no favors, every time he brushed his teeth now, he spat up a mixture of blood and petals.

_ “Just think about it,”  _ the GP had said, he felt the pamphlet now, pressed in his jean pocket. 

“Come  _ on!” _ Michael chided, spinning around. Gabe wasn’t moving fast enough for him apparently, and Michael hooked a finger through his belt loop, bringing them face to face. His smile was so bright, Gabe’s heart threatened to burst.  _ Yes,  _ he realized.  _ I’d rather die than never feel like this again.  _

His aching throat seized, and he stumbled back. “Gabe…?” He shuddered, choking violently. “ _ Gabe! _ ” Michael was frantic; his hands fluttering around like he wasn’t sure where to put them. Gabe could feel flower number four on the way, as he grabbed Michael’s shoulder for support. 

It hurt. It  _ hurt  _ so bad. Tears pricked his eyes, as he felt his throat squeezing around the flower. It launched out of his throat with a wet squelch. He winced at the noise, staring at the bloody, mangled mess in the snow. As he stood, he got a few sympathetic glances from passersby, but it was Michael’s expression that hurt the most. 

He was as white as a sheet, jaw hanging open, eyes hugged out. “Michael,” he choked out, massaging his aching throat. “I can explain, I-“

“ _ Who did this to you?”  _ Michael hissed, cutting him off.”Was it that bitch Emma? I swear to fucking god I’ll kill her;”

“No,” he managed. “No it’s not.” 

His fury quickly changed to fear. “How long?” He demanded. 

“Couple months,” 

“Why didn’t you tell me? You need to see a doctor! God, I-I-I-why didn’t you  _ tell  _ me?!”  _ Because if he did, no love Michael felt would be genuine. It would be out of guilt, so he’d end up dead all the same. _

“Didn’t wanna, didn’t wanna worry you,” he huffed. “And I have been to the doctor. But I don’t want them to steal my amygdala.”

“Wh-who is it?” Michael asked again, trembling but not from the cold. 

“My own fault.” And it was true. It was his fault for a number of reasons. For falling in love. For being selfish. For not making a move when he had the chance.

“Oh please, is it cause I said I’d kill them? Gabe, that was a  _ joke.”  _

“I’m not telling anyone.” Michael seemed to sense the resolve in his voice, seeming to almost deflate.

“Okay…okay.”

-

It was painfully awkward hanging out with Michael. He was quiet, treating Gabe as if he was going to fall apart if he hugged him too hard. He was fine though. Mostly. One’s health could deteriorate a lot in a few months, and Gabe learned that the hard way. He’d graduated from coughing up flowers, to coughing up bouquets. Hard lumps had formed under his skin around his chest and neck, where roots coiled. And at all times, he was in agony. 

But he didn’t want to worry Michael.

“Why'd you keep staring at me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. Michael blinked in surprise. When Gabe couldn’t sleep, he called Michael to watch that TV show he liked. It was nice to lie down against him, feel his heartbeat, and support himself well enough to breathe. 

“I’m not,” He said softly, running a hand through Gabe’s hair and gently teasing out a petal. He littered flowers everywhere he went now. It was quite depressing. 

“You are.” 

‘Mm,” Michael hummed, turning off the TV. “You should sleep,” 

“Stay,” Gabe pleaded quietly. Michael just nodded, shifting so Gabe was propped up by the pillow. Something was wrong though. Something was shifting, leafy structures blocking his throat. He choked, grabbing Michael. 

“Gabe!” he cried, grabbing his arms. “Hang on, I’m calling the ambulance!” He was frantic, terrified, trying to do CPR, wiping the blood and leaves away from his mouth. Gabe’s chest spasmed, unable to get air, shaking against Michael until he went limp. 

-

Gabe came to, in the hospital, listening to people talking about him. 

“He doesn’t want the surgery.”

“Make him take it,  _ please _ , he-he can’t die. He’s my best friend,  _ please. _ ” Gabe’s eyes fluttered open weakly. 

“Michael…” Michael whipped around, hair frazzled and looking incredibly sleep deprived. 

“Oh thank god,” He whispered, cradling his face in his hands. “Oh, god.”

The GP looked at him, and looked at Michael and he got the feeling she knew. She knew it was him. ‘Think about it.’ She mouthed again, leaving Michael clinging to Gabe.

He spent most of his time sleeping. Or trying to breathe. It only got worse, The flowers did not seem content to stay in his lungs. Instead they spilled from his lips, onto the bed. They wreathed his hair, crawled up his arms like vestigial organs, the petals mixing with his own blood in a disturbing shade of red. He would almost find them pretty if they weren’t choking him. 

And Michael. Michael was always there.

Chattering on and on, as he got weaker and weaker, the only comfort in his waning life.

Gabe was almost as thin as Michael now, which was confirmed when Michael was able to encircle his wrist with one hand. He formed grimly.

“What about Jeremy?” Gabe rasped one day. Michael had been spending a large amount of time at the hospital, time he usually spent with Jeremy.

“I have an ill friend,” Michael said softly, “whose more important than my love life. So we’re taking a break.” 

Gabe’s heart broke. He didn’t want Michael to sabotage his relationship with Jeremy, he didn’t want Michael to feel obligated to care for him. This was the same reason he didn’t tell him about his feelings. 

-

Michael had taken to lying down next to him, their hands intertwined, his face tucked into Gabe’s shoulder. It was nice, it was so nice. He wished he was more awake to enjoy it. 

“They are beautiful,” Michael said softly, as Gabe’s head lolled weakly against his chest.  _ They’re for you, _ he wanted to say. He could hear Michael’s voice was tearful, but it wasn’t like he could say anything to make him feel better. Besides, he was the one dying. Michael’s hands went to his hair, tenderly collecting the flowers from his face, the ones tucked behind his ears, wrapped around his arms and purpling his fingers. The nurses had given up on those. “But you’re more beautiful,” Michael said gently, leaning forward. 

Gabe was far too out of it to process this motion, wondering if Michael meant to pry his mouth open and pull the flowers out. But instead Michael kissed him. His lips were dry and tasted of tears, but it was _ Michael  _ so of course it felt perfect. Gabe let out a soft, contented sigh, the only noise he could really make. This was not bad. This was not a bad way to go. And he could feel the last recesses of air closing. This was it. This would kill him. 

“Sorry,” Michael murmured, his hand still resting on the back of Gabe’s neck, supporting his head. His skin buzzed pleasantly where Michael touched him. “Had to. Um. At least once.” He froze as the monsters went wild, beeping frantically as Gabe’s face turned blue. “No!” Michael shrieked, slamming the call button repeatedly. “You can’t,” he whispered, voice raw as he clung to Gabe’s shirt. The beeping of the monitors drowned out Michael’s next words. Gabe's vision went dark. “You can’t, you can’t,  _ please, _ ” 

“ _ I love you, _ ”

-

Gabe woke up, which in itself was a surprise.

His head felt clearer than it had in months, but unfortunately he still looked like shrubbery. He groaned softly, and apparently that was all Michael needed to leap onto him, kissing his face all over and sobbing. 

“They do, they do,” he wept, holding Gabe’s hand so tightly he felt his fingers would fuse together. “They love you back,” Gabe briefly wondered why Michael was so fucking stupid, and why he’d fallen in love with him in the first place.

“Yes,” he rasped. His voice was broken, and as he spoke, a mouthful of dead petals spilled from his lips. 

“There you are,” Michael whispered, stroking his hair, “it’s alright, you’re alright. You’re okay.” He was still sobbing horribly, “my god, you scared me.” He reared back furiously. “ _ Don’t ever do that to me again!”  _

“Won’t,” he gasped, unable to stop smiling, 

“I can’t loose,” he squeezed his hands. “You’re my best friend.”

“You love me,” he said. The words made his lips burn. Michael sniffled, eyes widening.

“ _ Oh… _ ” he started laughing hysterically.

-

Recovery was slow. Gabe had progressed to the very late stages, and still needed lots of support to keep breathing. Though the flowers were removed from his extremities as soon as they started wilting, there were still several surgeries to remove the roots from his skin and any flowers left in his lungs needed to be coughed out. His throat had been damaged beyond repair, and his voice would never be the same.

Gabe could literally not give less of a shit. He was in heaven, cloud nine, in some sort of strange parallel universe where Michae just…kissed him when he felt like it, because he loved him. And other times…

Michael ran a hand down his side, smiling mischievously. “You gotta get better soon; because I literally have not had any action since–“

“Michael.” 

“Hm?” The most innocent smile. 

“It’s like four in the morning.” They were quiet for a moment. 

“Yeah okay fine.”

“Sleep.” Yes, blessed quiet. 

“Hey Gabe?” Michael asked softly, snuggling closer.

“Mm?” 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

  
  



End file.
